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The Colour of Magic
4.43/5 |user= Artimus |director= Joe Wright |writer= Artimus Zeln |producer= Artimus Zeln |starring= David Tennant (Christopher Drake) Ryan Grantham (Philip Drake) Anna Friel (Rebecca Drake) Alun Armstrong (John McCullough) Anna Friel (Rebecca Drake) Samuel Honywood (Harold) Gemma Jones (Mrs. Clarke) John Hurt (Old Man) |cinematography= Seamus McGarvey |editor= Paul Tohill |costumes= Jacqueline Durran |art= Stuart Craig |score= Dario Marianelli |soundd= Richard Hymns Gary Rydstrom |sounde= Philip Stockton Tom Fleischmsn Eugene Gearty |makeup= Joel Harlow |visual= Jim Rygiel WETA Digital |release= July 3, 2010 |time= 112 minutes |langauge= English |budget= $35,000,000 USD |gross= $62,259,721 USD |studio= Warner Bros. |genre= Children's Drama }} The Colour of Magic is the tenth film of producer Artimus Zeln and his second children's drama in a row. The film received 14 Forum Film Festival Award nominations and won a record-tying six, including Best Picture. The film was also the best reviewed film of FFF13. Synopsis Philip Drake lives with his mother and father, who happens to be a magician. Set in a fantastical world where magic is a profession, the film follows Philip as he must navigate tragedy and begin taking his first steps towards adulthood. {| class="wikitable collapsible collapsed" ! style="background:#c0ecdb" | Full Film |- | style="background:color1" | PRODUCTION NOTES -''Wright and McGarvey aim for a very soft, summery look through the film. This is heightened in the final act (as noted). Colours are to the warm side, with Craig’s design heavily favoring reds and golds. Blue and green are used throughout several scenes to provide points of contrast.'' -''Marianelli’s score is built largely on piano solos and the usage of various woodwinds (pan flutes, clarinets, ocarinas and the classical flute). Except for the main Drake family theme, the themes are associated with locations and not persons. This holds true through to the final location in the third act, the only time strings are favored. The main Drake family theme is reserved for the opening, the library and the climax. It changes each time, becoming more complex and somewhat darker. The score is not aggressive, building a quiet base for each scene.'' -''The sound design emphasizes natural sounds (e.g. birds and voices in the market) and atmosphere. An exception to this is the final act wherein this atmospheric sound is largely absent (unless noted).'' ---- Feet run over red carpet, their patter echoing. Legs run by oak paneled walls covered with portraits of stuffy men and cranky women. Hall tables with large vases full of bright flowers, a suit of armor, floral patterned chairs and half-open doors leading to more halls and large, bright rooms all fly by. A breeze blows through an open window, white curtains billow. The legs belong to a young boy with pitch black hair: Philip Drake (Ryan Grantham). He runs through a grand Victorian mansion, the camera following. He reaches a long hall and runs down it towards a door, light flowing through. We watch him run farther away from us, reaching the door and passing through as light envelops him.  Inside is a library: three stories of book shelves with ladders and landings spiraling alongside. At the far end of the room is a wall of windows, a large oak desk smothered in books and papers in front. The boy looks up. Near the ceiling a man stands on a ladder. He pulls a book from the shelf, flips through it, and tosses it behind him. It flies through the air, stops and hovers near his feet. He pulls another, flips, throws. It does the same. The ladder slides along the shelves. He pulls more books until a dozen float behind him. He turns and steps off the ladder. A book moves under his foot. Another step, another book under his foot. He begins to walk, the books forming a stairway down. He looks up and sees Philip. He smiles. This is Philip’s father, Christopher (David Tenant). Christopher reaches the ground and the books pile on the floor by the desk. He sits and begins to flip through them. Philip turns. In the corner is a woman holding a paintbrush. A painting rests on an easel before her: a forest, entirely gold. The painting is largely complete, only the base of the largest tree’s trunk unfinished. She turns to Philip. Her hair is also black, her frock covered in paint splatter. This is Philip’s mother, Rebecca (Anna Friel). She bites the brush tip raises an eyebrow. “Ready to go?” He nods. “At three.” He sits near her. She returns to the painting. “What do you think?” “There’s no trunk.” “I can’t get it to look right. Any suggestions?” “It’s just a tree.” She laughs. “A lot of help you are.” “Why’s it all gold?” “Something inside me said this was to be a gold forest. And I had a lot of yellow paint.” A wink. “Get dad to finish it.” A laugh carries across the room. Christopher shakes his head as he reads. “Your father is the least artistic person I’ve ever met.” “He could just magic it done.” “He’d still need some artistic talent.” “When I grow up I’ll be an artist magician with a magic paintbrush that paints whatever I want it to.” “Make one for me while you’re at it. Maybe then I can finish this.” She stares at the painting for another moment then sets down the brush. “Enough for now. We can go early.” Philip jumps and runs to Christopher who holds up a quieting finger. Philip stands absolutely still as Christopher reads, slowly lowering the finger. When it reaches the arm of the chair he snaps the book shut, jumps up and looks at Philip. “One: your mother’s right, I can’t paint to save a kitten. Two: last one outside has to pull the carriage.” Philip takes off and runs out the door, his footsteps echoing down the hall. Christopher walks to Rebecca. They kiss. He smiles at her, wiping a bit of paint from her lip. They leave together, holding hands. ** A carriage, horseless, weaves through bustling city streets by its own accord. In the distance is Big Ben, partially constructed. We swoop under a footbridge as the carriage moves along. Pedestrians stop to watch it pass. A storefront advertises “The finest selection of magical texts in London!” The carriage heads towards a bustling market. Dozens of tents cover vendors and games, while folk of all classes mingle. The carriage reaches a hitching post and stops smoothly. Horses tied to the next poster over eye it nervously. Philip hops out, his parents right behind. Rebecca looks around “I hear there’s an art display this week.” Philip’s eyes widen with horror. Rebecca stares at him for a moment. “Ok, forget that. Where to, then?” “The games.” Christopher shakes his head. “Shocking. But I’m not helping you this time.” Rebecca eyes him. “You’re definitely not helping him this time.” Philip tears off into the market, passing bustling stall after stall. He stops at a ring toss, the target attached to a live tortoise. Next door a four year old girl places a penny bet on a shell game. The filthy showman shuffles his cups around. Christopher watches as he taps Philip on the arm and motions to the cups. They stop moving and the girl waivers on what to pick. She choose the middle. The showman grins, his front teeth mostly missing, releases a wet laugh and shakes his head. Christopher waves his hand behind his back. The showman lifts the cup, his laugh turning into a choking cough. The ball is there. The girl squeals and collects her penny prize. Philip grins at his father. They move on. They pass several produce venders. One old woman hawks peaches. Christopher hangs back and buys one. He surprises Rebecca with it. They pass a large tent full of paintings. Rebecca pats Philip on the head. “I looked with you, now you look with me.” “But I’m hungry and—” “—looking at paintings is boring?” Philip smiles sheepishly. Christopher takes his shoulder and looks to Rebecca. “Why don’t we get a bite while you look? Then you can take your time.” “And you can avoid them, too.” He feigns a look of innocence. She rolls her eyes in acquiescence. They leave her to browse. They wind through the market, soon stopping at a chestnut vendor. They buy a packet and walk into an open square with a large fountain in the middle. They pause at a booksellers on the edge and Christopher flips through some titles. A man in a large purple hat runs into the square, chasing a silver mechanical monkey. The monkey is running wildly around, the out-of-breath vendor and a line of giggling children chasing behind. Philip watches. The monkey rushes to the fountain and leaps onto the top of it. The man stops short and gingerly tries to climb up. He reaches for the monkey but it moves just as he does. He tumbles into the water. The monkey runs circles around the outside of the fountain. Philip smiles and turns to his father. He’s gone. Philip rises and looks around. Christopher is nowhere to be found. Popping a chestnut into his mouth he checks the book stall. He goes down one of the aisles, still eating his nuts. He passes several stalls, turns several corners but Christopher is nowhere. The stalls flow by as his pace increases. A mother walks by holding her daughter’s hand. The sun ducks below the nearest tent, submerging Philip in shadow. He begins to run. He peers around stalls corners. The nuts fall from his hand. He’s now frantic. The sun reaches the horizon, sinking slowly behind. The families leave, replaced by large men. They carry goods to carts and pull tents down. The fading light illuminates their rough, workman features. Shadows dominate the patron-less market. Philip crashes into an old woman. She turns and shouts. He steps back and falls over a crate. His hand reaches out to stop the fall but he slams onto the stone ground. His wrist twists. A small crack. Pain convulses across his face. A couple of tears fall from his eyes. The sky is dark and starless. A torch flares up in front of him, the gargoyle-ish face of a laborer glowers down. A hand reaches out but he scrambles to his feet and runs away. He stumbles around the black market, deep voices and horse hooves thundering around him. A cart dashes by, nearly running him down. He runs, faster and faster and faster, staring directly ahead. The scenery blurs. Tears fall freely. His feet slam against the pavement until— An explosion in the sky. Fire crackles in the air to his left, bright yellow. More explosions burst, the fire sparkling brightly. The shape of a tree begins to form in the burning light. A golden tree. Philip stops dead, cradling his wrist. He watches the fireworks for a moment and then rushes towards them. The night lights up as the tree glows in the night. Philip runs back into the square. Ahead of him, standing atop the fountain, is Christopher. His arms move through the air like a conductor’s, his face stone serious. Light dancings across his body. The fireworks explode, almost musically, according to some strange melody from another world. Philip watches, frozen, tears streaming down his face. “PHILIP!” Rebecca runs to him and they embrace. He cries out, his wrist jarred by the hug. The fireworks stop suddenly. Christopher races to them as Rebecca holds Philip’s wrist. “It’s broken.” Deep regret crosses Christopher’s face. He kneels down and examines the wrist. Rebecca touches Philip’s cheek. “Are you alright?” He nods, looking down to his wrist. Christopher takes him by the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Philip, I thought you were behind me…” Philip is unable to respond through the tears. “It hurts?” Philip nods. “Well lets see if we can’t fix it.” Christopher takes the wrist and runs his fingers along it. “Philip, I need you to hold your breath as long as you can. Ok?” Philip nods. He breathes in and holds it. Christopher snaps the wrist back into place. Philip screams out. Christopher quickly mutters under his breath and blows onto it. The skin ripples. Philip freezes and stares down. Rebecca leans in.  “Does it hurt?” Philip shakes his head. Rebecca hugs him and Christopher smiles. “There’s nothing a little magic can’t fix.” He lhugs his son. When he lets go Rebecca wipes Philip’s tears away and runs her hand through his hair. “Let’s go home.” He nods, eyes red. They walk to the carriage and Philip climbs in. Rebecca goes to follow but Christopher touches her arm. “I’m sorry.” She stares at him, anger in her eyes. His plead forgiveness. She sighs and they embrace. ** Philip lies in his bed. Christopher stands in the doorway, Rebecca sits on the edge in a brilliant ruby gown. “Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” Philip nods. “We don’t need to go.” He forces a smile “I’m ok now.” He holds up his wrist, turning it without a wince. Christopher steps forward, pulling a pocket watch from his jacket. He hands it to Philip. “If you’re lonely just tap the face twice and think of us. Wherever we are we’ll know and the hands will spin, telling you we’re thinking of you too.” Philip taps the glass twice. The hands spin immediately. He smiles. Rebecca hesitates before rising, kissing Philip on the forehead. “Go to sleep. We love you very, very much.” They walk to the door, Rebecca turning back to wave goodbye. He taps the watch twice. She smiles and closes the door. Philip plays with the watch as his parents voices float into the room, growing quieter as they walk away. “…forgive me.” “It’s alright. He’s alright.” “I thought he was there. I really though—” “Christopher. I love you.” “I love you too.” Philip sits in the dark, tapping the watch face. ** A door slams. Loud voices. Philip sits up, the watch tumbling to the ground. The glass cracks. Christopher’s voice is suddenly clear, shouting. “…the doctor!” Philip tiptoes to the door and peeks into the hall. Empty. More shouting. He goes into the hall to the top of the stairs. More voices. “…there. Hurry!” “It’s not enough. We need more.” “Hurry!” Philip climbs down the stairs, slowly. At the bottom he walks towards a the brightly lit drawing room. Reaching the door he peers inside. Rebecca lies on the sofa, motionless. Her clothes are torn and bloodied. Her leg is bent in a queer direction. Christopher kneels by her tearing through book after book, tossing each across the room in frustration. An older man stands by, eyes closed, quietly speaking to himself (Alun Armstrong). He is unshaven and messy in a brown coat and boots. Several servants watch from the side, including the house keeper Mrs. Clarke (Gemma Jones). A couple cry. Christopher jumps up, throwing the last book across the room and smashing a grandfather clock. He stands above Rebecca and begins to repeat several phrases, his hands held above her body. His voice grows louder and his speech faster until he is screaming. He collapses, a guttural cry escaping his lips. “Dad!” Philip rushes forward. The older man stops him, covering his eyes. “Don’t look, Philip. Not now.” Philip struggles to get free, soon giving up. The room is dead quiet but for Christopher’s sporadic sobs. ** The sun beats down on a green cemetery hill, London in the distance. Philip stands next to a fresh grave, dressed in black. He watches the ground. Christopher stands beside him, face blank. A procession of mourners passes by them. They shake the hands of the two Drake men. The mourners are numerous and well dressed. Politicians, lords, scrappy artists, some commoners and many more all take their turn. The older man is among them, as sloppy as before but in black, stopping longer than most. He takes Philip by the shoulders and promises him everything will be ok. He stands up and looks at Christopher. “She was a wonderful woman.” “Thank you, John.” Christopher offers his hand but John embraces him. The mourners continue to pass. The sun fills a nearby tree with golden light as Philip shifts his feet in the green grass. ** Morning light illuminates the Drake hallways. Philip, in a school uniform, walks down the hall to the library. He enters through the open door to see Christopher at his disk flipping through books. He is still dressed in his mourning clothes. Phillip’s presence goes unnoticed. A book flies across the room. Christopher curses. Philip walks back down the hall to his room. He stands inside momentarily then takes his school books from beside his bed and heads down the stairs to the front door. ** Philip sits at a small wooden desk in a classroom with twenty other boys. He stares out a window across the room. A grey sky sits above a stone schoolyard. Storm clouds sit in the distance. At the front of the room stands an extraordinarily ugly man, speaking slowly about the proper conjugation of a particular Latin phrase (a heavily made up Michael Sheen). “Philip?” Philip snaps to attention, stammering his lack of an answer. The man cuts him off. “Oh, Philip, I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t mean to call on you.” He promptly turns to another boy, Harold, also unable to answer (Samuel Honywood). The instructor walks over and smacks Harold on the head with his pointing stick. Harold shoots a glare at Philip who turns back to the window. ** The school doors open and the students burst out. Philip walks near the back of the pack, by himself. He trudges across the yard right into Harold, who’s joined by a couple of toadies. “He’s blind and stupid!” Philip backs up, only to find a toadie behind him. He’s pushed forward. Harold steps closer. “You think just ‘cus yer mam died you get off?” “N-no. I don’t at—” Harold smacks his books onto the ground. “Like makin’ me a fool?” “No, Harold, really.” One of the toadies cracks his knuckles. Harold leans in, his nose against Philip’s. He glares. “No wonder yer mam threw herself in front of a carriage. I woulda too.” Philip swings his fist. Harold easily side-steps and nails Philip in the gut. Philip collapses onto the ground. The toadies laugh. Harold stands over him, smirking. “It’s a good thing she’s dead. Otherwise she’d have to see yer face again.” He spits at Philip, just missing. They walks off. The toadie laughter echoes on the cold stone. Philip roles over, eyes soaked, and stares up into storm clouds directly overhead. ** The front door creeps open. Philip slips in. He drops his damaged books by the door and makes his way up the stairs and towards the library. The tears have mostly stopped. Christopher still sits at his desk. He is unshaven and his clothes are still unchanged from the funeral. His eyes, partially bloodshot, rapidly scan through a book. Hundreds are now piled around the room, severals shelves completely bare. Philip walks towards him. “Dad?” Nothing. Christopher hasn’t heard. “Dad?” Still nothing. Philip raises his voice slightly. “Dad?” Christopher jolts up. He turns slightly. “Philip?” “Dad…” “Not now, Philip.” Philip hesitates. “Dad…” “I’m working.” Philip stands silently, his mouth trying to form words. Christopher turns his head a bit more, still not looking at his song. “What? Philip? What is it?” Still nothing. “Either spit out whatever you have to say or let me work! I’m extremely busy and running out of time!” Christopher slams his book down on the table. Philip runs from the room. Christopher pauses, then picks up his book and continues to read. Philip runs into his room, slamming the door. He runs to his bed, pulling the pocket watch from under his pillow. He crawls under the covers as a clap of thunder sounds. A quiet rain begins to fall over the now quiet room. The only other sound is the gentle tapping of Philip’s finger against the broken watch face. ** Boxes of books float in through the front door. A haggard Christopher supervises as what must be several hundred books carry themselves up the stairs. John stands next to him in silence, checking off a list as each box passes. Philip watches them go by from his room. They float down the hall to the library. ** The school courtyard. Harold has Philip back up against a wall. His books are again on the group. The toadies watch with glee. Harold steps forward, slamming a fist into his other hand. Their instructor steps into the court yard behind them. One of the toadies alerts Harold who turns and walks away, toadies in tow. Philip watches them go, catching a mouthed “Next time” as they leave the court yard. ** Night. The house is barely lit. Philip sits outside the closed drawing room door. Voices can heard, deadened by the door but still discernible. Christopher and McCullough are speaking. Christopher’s voice is raised. “It’s not there.” “It doesn’t exist.” “It does.” “Even if it did, you know these things never work. This is beyond even your skill.” “Not if we find it.” “I brought you every library in England!” “Not Perceval’s.” “Even if he had it he’d never let you touch it.” “He will if you ask.” They continue to talk as Philip tiptoes away. He heads to the library, slipping inside and closing the door. The library is unrecognizable. The boxes, now in the hundreds, are everywhere. Books cover every surface. Some stacks rise teen feet off the floor. Philip stares, afraid, but goes over to one of the ladders. Climbing up he stops on the second level and begins to run his finger along one of the shelves, reading the titles. He searches for a minute until, midway down the row, he stops at a book: “Defence.” He leafs through it quickly, stopping at a page labeled “Repulsion of Foreign Bodies”. He takes the book and runs to his room. ** Philip huddles over the book, a candle next to him. A potato sits nearby. Eyes closed, he attempts the spell. “Abscedo!” The potato remains motionless. He varies his pronunciation; he waves his hand wildly. He tries again and again. The potato still does not move. He hurls it across the room. ** Philip sits alone at the dinner table. He nibbles at a piece of shepherd’s pie, not really eating any. Mrs. Clarke watches him from the doorway. Christopher’s place isn’t even set. ** Christopher sits in a corner of the library staring blankly across the room. Rebecca’s painting is behind him, barely visible behind a stack of books. He breathes in slowly. ** A sunny day as Philip crosses the schoolyard. The laughter of the other children on their way home carries past him. As he nears the gate Harold and his toadies appear in front of him. “You didn’t tell?” Philip shrugs. “Good thing. You’d pay you if you did.” He smacks his fist into his palm. Philip looks him in the eye. “I told my dad.” Harold sneers. “No chance. If you did I’d be oughta here. Suspended. ” “Yes. I did. And he put a spell on me. Touch me again and you’ll die!” “Yer dad can’t kill me, I’m a kid!” “He’s a magician. They do whatever they want.” Harold considers this. A toadie backs away. Harold shakes his head. “Nah. Yer dad doesn’t care ‘bout you any more than yer mom.” Philip mutters under his breath. “What was that, Drake?” “Abscendo!” The others all freeze. Harold laughs, the toadies joining in. He jumps at Philip, fist aiming for another gut shot. Philips stumbles, hands flying up in protection. He screams. “ABSCENDO!” Everything slows. Harold floats off the ground. Time speeds up. Harold rockets across the yard, smashing into the wall and collapsing in a heap on the ground. Philip and the toadies stare in shock. One screams. The instructor rushes from the building behind them and looks to Philip, unsure. Philip stares at Harold, lying motionless. ** The drawing room door flies open. Christopher, wearing his coat and out of breath, stares at a terrified Philip, sitting on the sofa. “Where? Where did you learn it?” No answer. “Philip! Answer me!” “B-book.” “Where from?” “L-l-library.” “Stealing my books? Are you insane?” Shaking, Christopher goes over and grabs Philip by the shoulder. He shakes him as he yells. “You could have killed that boy! Or yourself!” “I’m sor—” “YOU’RE A CHILD! This isn’t a game!” “H-h-he said–” “What?” “He said mom jumped in front of the carriage on purpose. He said she wanted to die.” Christopher loses his momentum. He sits. “That’s not true…”  Philip looks at Christopher, who’s unable to meet his eyes. “It’s not true. And she’s not dead.” “But I saw her. We had a funeral.” “Yes, but I will bring her back.” “How?” “I don’t know yet.” “Mrs. Clarke said when people die they leave us forever.” “They usually do. But we have magic on our side. And I will bring her back.” He pulls Philip close to him. “I promise you, Philip. I will bring her back to us. We will be a family again.” They hug. ** The dining room table, still just one place set. Philip chews on a roll. A knock at the front door. Footsteps on the stairs. Philip rises and goes to see his father letting John in. They go to the drawing room. Philip follows, watching them from the door. John holds a book. Christopher looks at it. “That it?” “To After-Ever by John Uskglass.” “And there’s a spell?” “Yes.” Christopher reaches for the book. John pulls it away. “Before I give it to you, hear me out.” “I’ve heard your warnings.” “Yes. But now I’ve actually read the thing.” “John…” “Hear me out and it is yours.” Christopher nods. Philip watches his father closely. “If the spell does, somehow, work, the chances of you finding her and returning are next to none. Uskglass spent two years trying to get there. No one knows what happened when he finally did. All we know is that on his return he burned what he thought was every copy of this book and never once mentioned it again. Meaning if the most powerful magician to ever live went to this place and saw things so terrible that he could not bear them, then what hope do you have?” He looks to Christopher who meets his eye. “I have no choice but to try.” “And if you never return?” “I will.” Philip walks in. “Dad? Where are you going?” The two men notice the boy for the first time. “Philip! I’m going to get mom.” “But he said you might not come back.” “I will.” “But—” “I will, Philip. I promise.” Christopher reaches for the book. John, with a look to Philip, lets him have it. Christopher flips through, his eyes lingering on the final page. “We’ll need a mirror.” ** A full body mirror stands in the middle of the room, Christopher in front of it. To the side stands John, his arm resting on Philip’s shoulder. Christopher raises his hands and stares at his reflection. Candle light dances on the glass surface. His lips begin to move. He speaks an unending stream of unknown words. The candles begin to flicker. The mirror glass ripples. A breeze blows through the room, rippling Christopher’s hair. The room’s reflection grows faint. Trees begin to appear in its place. The candle flames begin to extend, forming streams of fiery ribbon. They flow from the candles towards the mirror, a light bursting from it as they touch. The glass is entirely gone, the candlelight pouring through the door-like mirror. On the other side is a forest; a golden forest. Christopher breathes in and, without looking back, walks forward into the mirror. His figure shimmers as the stream of candle light flows over his body and he passes from the room into the forest. The candlelight begins receding from the mirror. The trees ripple, the mirror surface returning. Christopher walks deeper into the forest. Philip cries out. John tightens his grip on the boy’s shoulder. Philip lurches forward and pulls free. He runs at the mirror, jumping as the last touch of light lets go. Smashing glass. A flash of light. A thud. Philip opens his eyes and turns to see the pale image of John scrambling towards the mirror. He disappears. All that is left is the golden glow of the forest and an overwhelming quiet. ** Christopher stands in a field of long grass. Everything is gold: the grass, the sky, the forest far behind him. In front of him is a castle, larger than any on Earth. Hundreds of turrets rise from dozens of towers. It’s badly eroded, turrets missing chunks and towers collapsed in on themselves. He stands at the bottom of the steps leading inside. They spread to the edge of vision in both directions. He hesitates before beginning to climb ** Philip picks himself off the ground and brushes dirt from his hands. In front of him stretches the forest. Here, too, everything is golden. But behind him is different. In the distance is a blackness, a complete void. The trees nearest Philip look normal, glowing with golden light. But those slightly farther away have black veins, like ink flowing down the bark. The trees slightly farther than that are partially missing. Golden light flows from their edges. They are floating away, molecule by molecule, being engulfed by the void. Very slowly the darkness creeps closer. Philips jolts back when he notices the black veins appearing on the trees beside him. He turns and runs. As he runs, branches seem to lift up and out of his way. Behind him the darkness grows smaller, but never small enough to disappear. He bursts into the open. The grass field extends in front of him. In the far distance rises the castle, towering even from this far away. A figure can be seen climbing the steps and disappearing inside. Philip runs towards it. ** Christopher stands inside the castle, looking around. What was clearly once a great palace is rubble and rotting wood. Soiled, torn banners dangle from some of the walls, barely held up by a final few threads.  Objects of all kinds line the dozens of hallways leading off of the great entry hall. Smashed tables, crumbled suits of armor, torn paintings and broken chairs lie around. Dust coats everything. A red carpet leads forward up a small staircase. Christopher follows it. The light doesn't change as he passes deeper inside. Looking up he sees why: the roof is gone. The towers and turrets rises above him. He passes through a doorway, the rotting shell of one door still hanging. The roof in this new room exists in places. Columns rise from the floor, many broken at the top. At the end of the room is a dais, upon which sits a throne carved from stone. On either side is a statute of a human kind, the face worn away. Their hands are outstretched, palms up. Golden light flows from them into the air. On the throne sits an old man (John Hurt). He wears a suit, outdated by only by a few decades. His hair is as silver as the rest is gold. His face is old, wrinkled and tired. His eyes are blue, standing out from the gold like an oasis in the desert. Upon his head sits a small, unassuming black crown. He rises as Christopher approaches. “We need to be quick. There’s a lot to do right now, we’re about to move on.” “I’m sorry?” “Everyone is leaving.” “There are others? You’re the first I’ve seen.” “Of course I am. You can’t see the rest of them because you didn’t come here to see them.” “But I can see you.” “Everyone can see me. If people couldn’t see me how could they find anyone else?” “I see.” “No you don’t. Though you magicians are certainly prone to thinking so.” “You know who I am?” “Yes, Mr. Drake.” “Then you know why I’m here.” “Christopher Drake, the great magician, has come to the world neither here nor where to find his dead wife and bring her home.” “Is she here?” “If you wish, she can be.” Christopher looks up at him, eyes narrowed. “What must I do?” “Only ask.” “I know better than the make deals with faerie kings.” “This is not Faerie, Mr. Drake. I am no treacherous sprite. If you wish to be reunited with your wife just ask.” “Take me to her.” The old man steps down from the dais. “Before seeing her you must understand the choice before you. Because you cannot take her back with you. She can be with you, but only here. There is not enough life in all the kingdoms of all the worlds to take her farther than this place. If you see her you will have a short time decide whether you will stay or go and once you have decided, you cannot change your mind. These aren’t just rules, they are the very forces of nature. The fabric of time can be bent no other way, space itself can move in no other direction. So you must choose to stay with her here or say goodbye forever. For once you leave this place you may never return.” The old man motions to the far distance where the blackness is growing. Christopher rises. “I need to go home first. I need to get my son.” “If you leave you can never return.” “But my son!” “Is already here.” “What?” “He followed you through the doorway. He’s not far behind.” Christopher considers this. “Can he stay with us here?” “Of course.” Happiness crosses Christopher’s face. The old man claps his hands. “We need to be quick. I suggest you see her now and decide. He’ll be here soon enough.” Christopher looks around the throne room. The first hints of the void are visible through the missing ceiling. “Take me to her.” “Once you see her you only have a minute to decide whether or not to stay.” “I already have.” ** Philip enters the castle. He surveys the ruin, his run now a careful walk. Voices carry through the empty corridors. His head turns as one sounds like Christopher’s. He continues on, heading towards the voice. ** The old man leads Christopher up one of the towers. Segments of the wall are missing, golden light seeping in, ground visible a couple hundred feet below. We spiral up behind them, light flaring as the camera circles and turns. They merge onto a platform at the top of the tower, the roof gone and only a foot or two of wall circling the perimeter. After-Ever spreads around them: the forest and field behind them, a golden sea and mountain rising to the sides. The old man raises his arms, palms up. Light begins to flow out of them, into the sky. He claps his hands. She begins to appear, fading slowly into existence in front of the old man. She is as before, unchanged, her ball gown still ripped and bloodied. But her skin is clean, no cuts and no blood. She is healthy, well, except for her eyes which are pale, almost empty. “Rebecca!” Christopher rushes to her, taking her into his arms. They fall to their knees. Her eyes begin to brighten, though a cloudiness remains. “Christopher...?” “It’s me.” “...but I’m d—” “Not anymore.” The old man looks to the sky, where the darkness is nearly. The tips of several nearby towers are being sucked away. Barely any of the field is left, the forest entirely gone. He turns to Christopher. “You’ve decided?” Christopher nods. Rebecca looks as him, puzzled. “Decided what?” “To stay with you here. Forever.” “In this place?” He smiles. “But what of the world? Your work? Your life?” “What are they without you?” “How can you leave everything?” “I’m not, I’m finding it again.” He turns to the old man. “I’ve decided.” “Good. It’s nearly time to move on. Now stand.” Christopher helps Rebecca to her feet. They look at each other and the cloudiness in her eyes fades away. They are vibrant now, as before. He lips move. “Philip...” Her eyes widen, she steps back. “Where’s Philip?” “He’ll be here in a minute.” “Here?” “Yes. He’ll be with us.” “In this place? For how long?” “Forever. We’ll never be apart again.” “No, no, no. He can’t live here!” “He has to, it’s the only way for us to be together.” She turns to the old man. “Will he grow up?” He shakes his head. She turns to Christopher. “No...Christopher, no.” She backs away. “Rebecca—” “No. He can’t live here. He has his whole life ahead of him.” “We have no choice. If we leave we lose you.” “And if you stay he loses his future.” He steps towards her but she brushes him away, horror on her face. The sound of cracking stone comes from a nearby tower. The darkness nears. “He cannot stay. You have to leave.” “I can’t.” “You must! This is no place for a child. Our child.” “It will do.” “No, it won’t. You have to go. You have to take him home.” “If I leave I can never come back. Never see you again.”  She wraps herself in her own arms. She is crying. “Then say goodbye.” “No. Never. Never! I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t be awake without thinking of you. There is no day, no hour, no minute that I don’t see your face. My entire life has been spent loving you. Every breath I take is you. And when I look at him I see you and I cannot breathe, I cannot move. I cannot live without you, Rebecca. And now I don’t have to, now you are here! And I can’t leave you, because without you I’m not even alive.” He collapses before her. She kneels, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m dead, Christopher.” He shakes his head. She speaks slowly to him, kindly. “Yes. I am. And whatever this is, it isn’t life. I love you more than life itself, and I love you all the more for coming here to find me. But my life is over, while his is just beginning. And he needs to live that life.” “I can’t l—” “You must.” “How can I leave you? How can I go on without you?” “You love the child.” He shakes his head again and again but she only holds him tighter. “I can’t say goodbye again.” “You can for him. So he can grow up and find a love like we had, and have a son of his own and be a father as wonderful as his own. But he needs to know how to love first. He needs to be loved. He needs his father to show him.” The darkness is now directly above them. A few strands of light begin to lift from the far edge of their tower, drifting up into the darkness. Their tower begins to shake. “Sorry to interrupt, but time’s up.” The old man stares. “Your decision?” He looks at her, crying. “I’m going.” The old man nods. Rebecca smiles at Christopher. Her hand rests against his chest, his rests against the side of her face. He whispers to her. “I love you.” She disappears. Footsteps echo from the stairway. The old man turns. “I suggest you take your son and leave as quickly as possible. Time is gone.” ** Philip climbs the winding staircase of the tower. Out of breath he emerges at the top. The sky above is half black now. Light is now freely flowing from the edge of the platform. Christopher kneels in the middle, his head buried in his hands. “Dad!” Christopher looks up as Philip runs to him, falling into his arms. A deafening crack. They look up to see a neighboring tower break off from the castle and tumble sideways. As it does the darkness sucks it up, faster than it can fall. It disappears before ever hitting the ground. Christopher rises. “We need to go.” “But where’s Mom? Did you find her?” Christopher hesitates, eyeing the darkness. Deciding, he kneels down in front of Philip. “No. I was wrong.” “But you promi—” “I know. And I’m sorry. But the truth is she’s dead. And as much as I wish otherwise there are some things I cannot do, even with magic.” “You can do anything!” “Not this.” “Why?” “There’s no reason.” Philip looks at him, confused. He looks around at the quiet, noiseless destruction. The edge of the tower mostly gone. He places his hands on Philip’s shoulder. “It’s like...well, like magic is a paintbrush. I can paint whatever picture I want, whatever I can think of, in any colour I want. But whatever I do I can only ever paint with the colours that I have. And magic doesn’t have the colour we need to bring mom back. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I can never change that. I can never paint with that colour because it doesn’t exist.” Philip begins to cry, clinging to his father. “Look at me. Look at me, Philip.” Philip does as told. The stones by them begin to disappear, the golden light flowing up into the void. “I know it hurts. I know you miss her. I do too, so very very much. And this is how it is, this is how things are. But however much it does hurt, however sad you feel right now, it’s going to get better. I don’t know how, but it will. And right now we’re going to get up and we’re going to go home and I’m going to take care of you. And you’re going to grow up and live a very happy life. Mom won’t be with us, but it will be ok. Because we’ll take the colours we do have and we’ll paint the most wonderful picture we can, together. And no matter what, we’re going to be OK, Philip. We’re going to be OK.” He kisses Philip on the forehead and smiles at him. The stone beneath Christopher’s foot begins to dissolve. He jumps up to find the stairs mostly gone. The blackness covers almost the entire world, all but the distant sea. “We need to go now.” He reaches down and takes Philip’s hand. “We’re going to have to jump. Are you with me?” “Yes.” “Then let’s go home.” They rise and each take a deep breath. Christopher nods. They run to the edge of the tower, towards the sea, and jump. Screams fill the air, mixed with the shriek of a violent wind and raging fire. Children cry, stone smashes against stone. A thousand horrific sounds swirl around them. They fall for a moment before Christopher shouts and waves his hand. Then they fly. They pass a tower just as the earth breaks below them, releasing the enormous stone structure and sending it flying towards them. They jolt to the side. It screams past into the darkness. More pieces of the castle break loose and rocket by. They weave in and out of them. One brushes Christopher’s coat, tearing it. They near the edge of the castle as several large towers are pulled free and shoot up at once. Unable to dodge, Christopher juts out his hand. Bright blue fire blasts into one of the towers. It explodes into a rainbow of fireworks. They shoot behind the castle towards the sea. Below them the earth begins to splinter, pieces breaking free. In the distance the sea darkens, the black ink beginning to infect the waves. They dodge chunks of earth the size of buildings as they fly faster and faster. Boulders and trees shoot past, breaking into a billion points of light as they go by. The colour begins to drain from the entire world, gold turning to gray. The darkness is now a moving force, following right behind them.  They reach the edge of the sea as water begins to rise. They fly out, keeping just ahead of the darkness as it sucks the sea into it. Christopher closes his eyes and begins to speak. His words can’t be heard over the cacophony around them.  A column of water rises ahead of them. It reaches the darkness like a tap running in reverse into the void. They head directly at it. Philip yells, unheard. Christopher’s eyes remain closed. The column looms closer and closer. Philip tires to get Christopher to notice, but the motion of flight leaves him unable to move. The world is almost entirely black. The castle has disappeared. Only the ever-darkening ocean remains. Philip looks ahead into the water column. The ink has taken over, turning it into a column of liquid dark, flowing from a gray sea into black. They fly towards it.  Everything slows. Philip looks into the darkness and breathes in. As he does a window of light appears on the other side and the image of a starry night sky shines through. With all the might of his body Philip forces his hand in front of him. He yells just as his fingers touch the darkness. The column splits open before them and they burst through it. The entire world turns black. ** They burst through the window into the starry sky. The window disappears behind them, the void shutting like a door. Below them is London, glistening in the warmth of a summer night. Christopher’s eyes open and he looks at Philip. “We made it.” Floating above London they embrace. Philip smiles through his tears. Christopher whispers under his breath. “Everything will be OK.” They float down towards the tiny city below. The stars sparkle in the rich, navy blue sky. The magician looks at his son and smiles. ** A candle flickers on in Philip’s room. The door creaks open and Christopher walks in carrying Philip. He sets him down gently on the bed, takes off his shoes and socks, and pulls the covers up around the boy’s small body. He leans over and kisses him. As he turns to leave, Christopher looks down and sees the broken pocket watch on the floor. He picks it up and looks at it. He waves his hand over the surface. The glass is whole again. He turns back and places the watch next to Philip in the bed before going to the door and, taking one final look, closing it. Philip lies in the darkness, asleep. The stars shine outside his window, their light falling onto the bed. The pocket watch rests in the crux of his arm. Slowly, barely at all, but unmistakably, its hands are spinning. We slowly fade to black as the credits fade in... THE COLOUR OF MAGIC |} Awards Summarize the film's entire awards haul, including FFF awards, in one sentence (e.g. The film was nominated for a total of ## awards, winning ##.). The following table is to be used to list all the awards. Two lines have been provided as examples. Change the # in "rowspan=#" to match the number of nominations from that particular awards body. BOLD all wins. Each award has three lines (category, nominees, result). The first award of each body/ceremony has the rowspan line with the name of that body. Multiple, shared nominees are separated with a common. Double nominees (e.g. two Actor nominations, two song nominations) are counted as separate. Reviews The film received 21 reviews, all of which were positive tying it for ripest film of the festival (with I Love to See You Coming, I Hate to See You Go). It also held the highest average of the festival with 4.43/5 stars. 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